


The Music That We Choose (ON INDEFINITE HIATUS)

by phoe



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2d is noodle's babysitter, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Normal High School, Car Accidents, Drabble Collection, Drugs, Everyone is a teenager, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Oneshot, Other, Phase One, Phase One (Gorillaz), apart from noodle, noodle is 6, pre-accident stuart, setting - modern day crawley, shitty highschool band
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 20:03:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10771452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoe/pseuds/phoe
Summary: (ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE - APOLOGIES TO READERS)Stuart Pot is a 15 year old student at St Wilfrid's Comprehensive School in Crawley, West Sussex. He would be considered a loner, if it weren't for him hanging around with a pretty girl named Paula, a group of disobedient sixth-formers, the new guy from New York, and the little girl down the road he babysits. Sometimes, he thinks he should be keeping his reputation up high, but a certain eighteen year old with a bad haircut and an even worse alcohol problem keeps dragging him down to his own level.





	1. 12D3

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so I guess this is kind of a one-shot collection. Each chapter will focus on key moments (unless I feel like writing something incredibly mundane) but it should still follow some kind of loose plot. I have it all set it out in my mind, so you'll just have to wait to see what comes of it. The update schedule might be a little erratic, though.
> 
> The general plot is based roughly on the events described in the Rise Of the Ogre, in a more modern school retelling of the character's backstories, without the whole 'we're a famous rock band' plot point. That's not to say the word 'Gorillaz' won't be uttered at any point in the story, though. You'll just have to wait.

Stuart Pot sits at the back of his English class with a vacant gaze in his eyes. He always sits at the back, because it means there’s nobody behind him to throw little rolled up pieces of paper at his head. His deep azure hair probably should’ve been washed this morning, but following a night of mischief he can’t quite recall the events of, Stuart had awoken a mere twenty minutes before the beginning of the school day. Grease isn’t too much of a worry for the fifteen year old Crawley-dweller, because people will draw attention to his oddly-coloured ‘do no matter what the state of it. Unnatural hair colours are not permitted in the uniform at St. Wilfrid’s, however his mother, Rachel Pot, always tells the headmaster the same thing.

“It is natural, honest. He fell out of a tree when he was 11, just a year before he started here. Knocked out all his body hair and all. It grew back blue. Honest!”

Rachel Pot is a nurse, so of course she knows what she’s talking about. 

 

The teacher at the front of the class is moaning on and on, so much so that the mundane sounds coming from his old, withered vocal chords barely sound like comprehensible words any more. Stuart blankly turns his attention off to the side - it wasn’t like he was paying any notice to the lesson in the first place. At the side of the room, the girls all sit in clusters wearing pleated skirts which are sewn up enough to expose their thighs, with their ties loosened around their necks. Stu doesn’t like to drool over the girls at his school - it’s impolite, it’s disrespectful. However, there’s one bird over there he’s somehow managed to chat up these past few weeks. Her name is Paula. She’s almost as tall as him, especially when she wears her Doc’s into class. She likes his floppy, bright hair and his button nose. She says he’s a sweet boy. She hangs out by the dustbins after school, smoking cigarettes and blunts with a group of sixth formers. 

 

“You know any of them?” A deep whisper with a New Yorker delivery comes from Stuart’s other side. It’s the new student: a large, dark skinned boy named Russel. He’d moved to the UK after an unfortunate string of demons decided to take residence in his vessel, and his parents felt it would be safer if he went to live with his Uncle. He doesn’t seem to get along easily with the students at St. Wilfrid’s; they’re all intimidated by him. His size, his accent, the rumour that he’s still possessed by Pazuzu - there’s a preposterous plethora of reasons why people don’t want to talk to him. Stuart doesn’t get along with the other students, either. They all like to take, well, the piss. His ditziness, his gangly body and his odd hair make him the easiest target for a spot of teasing. This small list of outstanding features seems to have brought the two boys together. A first-rate friendship has been formed.

 

“The girl with the shaggy black hair, there- She’s Paula. I think she likes me, or something.” Stuart informs his companion, twizzling his pen in his rather long fingers. 

 

“And?” Russel urges.

 

“Well, what do you mean, ‘and’?” Stuart glances over at Russ.

 

“Do you, like, actually know her? Or did she just say something to you once that made you think she was interested?” It’s not quite clear what Russel’s intentions are here. Perhaps he’s just been struck with an intense feeling of boredom.

 

“We go to the Spar after school on Wednesdays. She likes talking to the year thirteens, and smoking with them, and shit. She brings me along and tells them I’m her friend, so I think that makes us… friends.”

 

It occurs to Russel that his new confidant seems to have the observance of a blind goldfish.

 

“And you smoke with ‘em?” 

 

“Sometimes. But then sometimes they’re smoking cannabis and not tobacco and I can’t go home smelling like pot cuz my mum’ll get all weird about it.”

 

Russel sniggers at the accidental pun.

 

“What?”

 

“Pot.”

 

“You can call me Stu.” 

 

He decides to give up on that one. 

 

The lesson continues for a good fifteen minutes, and Paula hasn’t looked over once to acknowledge her blue haired associate. After that short length of time, the bell rings, and everyone’s out of the door before their poor teacher can tell them to stop. Stuart and Russel are the last to leave, slowly packing their books away and slinging their bags over their shoulders. They’ve only taken this long because some knob-head shoved Stuart sideways and made him drop his pencil case. It’s 1 in the afternoon, which is the lunch slot for year 11s, and it gives the boys no reason to rush to the cafeteria. Walking down the corridor, Russel turns to Stu.

 

“You goin’ to the spar after school, then?”

 

“It’s not Wednesday.” Stuart reasons, twitching his head every so often to get the hair out of his eyes.

 

“Why only Wednesdays, anyway? You, like… never wanna hang out.”

 

“Babysitting.” 

 

“You look after a kid?” As sweet and loyal as Russel knows Stuart can be, he doesn’t believe he could really be responsible for the wellbeing of a small child.

 

“Yeah. Family friends. They don’t speak much English but my mum’s a nurse and she used to work in the kids hospital up in town, what, six years ago? So she knows them and she knows their daughter and they pay me a fiver for each night I watch her.”

 

“Oh,” Russel nods, “So, what’s her name?”

 

“Suzi.” Stuart informs, reaching into his bag again as they reach the cafeteria for his keyfob. “She’s a laugh. Usually her parents leave money laying around to order pizza, and shit like that. One night they forgot, though, and I had to try and make something from scratch. Suzi started screeching about noodles, so I started nicknaming her Noodle. She seems to like it. She thinks it’s funny.”

 

“What do her parents make of that, though? ‘Noodle’?” Russ, from halfway across the cafeteria, is already eyeing up the pork pies up on offer. If only the queue weren’t so long.

 

“I think they’re cool with it. I think they like that we’re getting along. She’s an only child, see? And her parents mostly speak Japanese so she gets kind of lonely. She’s in her first year of primary school so I guess I help her with her English, just a bit.” Stuart has a thick cockney accent and has been missing a front tooth ever since the infamous fall from his childhood. Conceivably, he’s not the best English teacher when it comes to dialect. 

 

Stuart enters the uncomfortably long line for food with Russel. He’s one of the tallest people standing in line, and his bright hair stands out against the dull wallpaper. A few boys have noticed his gawkish presence. They don’t say anything, but they’re giggling, and their eyes’ unfaltering focus on Stu is making him feel unwelcome, as per usual. It’s a relatively normal feeling for him when at school.

 

“What were you thinking of doing if I wasn’t babysitting?” He asks, trying to take his mind off of the onlookers.

 

“I dunno. Maybe hang around town, maybe say hi to them sixth formers you talk to.” Russel seems to have a history of mingling with people outside of his league. His best friend Del, whom he left behind in New York, is two years older than him, and he isn’t exactly the best of influences for the sixteen year old.

 

“Some of them are cool, but some of them aren’t. Like, they all smoke weed, and that’s cool, right? And sometimes we go around on our bikes and paint graffiti behind shops, as well. That’s well cool. They drink, too. One of them drinks way too much, though. Gets wasted. He likes talking to me, but he’s a bit freaky. He’s a bit push-and-shove. Knocked me off a wall, once. I’m- I was fine, though, I was- I got straight back up and Paula was all like ‘wow! That was so cool! You’re cool, Stuart!’”

 

Stu pauses for a moment.

 

“No, actually- No. She said Murdoc. Murdoc’s cool. Murdoc’s the bloke I’m talking about. But he is, isn’t he? Cuz he managed to get me off the wall. I wasn’t even _on_ the wall in the first place! Wicked, innit?” 

 

Russ gives him a slightly exasperated look before deciding to reply.

 

“If you say so, Stu.” He doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he might not be well-suited to the life these older kids are bringing him.


	2. Halfway To The Halfway House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuart picks Noodle up from school, simply put.

Stuart picks Suzi Sasaki up from her primary school every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. Some people might find it strange for the Sasaki couple to trust a dimwitted teenage boy with their daughter, but hiring babysitters with this much of a free schedule for such a low price is difficult, and Stuart is the most inoffensive Brit they’ve met thus far - at least when it comes to dealing with children. Plenty of the kids at his school smoke, but he always makes sure to keep his fags under lockdown as soon as he’s within the general area of Suzi’s school. He didn’t always know to do this, though. Had nobody told Stuart the effects of tobacco on the lungs, he probably would’ve handed out free smokes to any child that asked.

 

As Stuart approaches the decrepit building, he can already hear the mirthful screeching of the children running around in the playground. There are plenty of parents greeting their young ones with smiles, and a few other notable attendees (who honestly have no relevance to the plot):

 

  * A group of teenagers in a flashy Mercedes, blasting hip-hop music that is certainly not suitable for the environment. Supposedly, the driver is a sibling of one of the children, and their parents have asked him last minute to pick up his darling sister.



 

  * A withered old man with a beer belly and a golf cap, who probably hasn’t seen his grandchildren since they were first born.  He’ll likely be taking them out for a spot of ice cream before delivering them back to their dishevelled mother. 



 

  * A woman in a bright yellow visibility jacket, already holding the hands of two toddlers. She’s in charge of leading supervision-less children back to Bear Club, which is a sort of mass-babysitting organisation that makes its home in the city hall. It’s not very expensive, but Suzi’s parents never liked the atmosphere, because it was always the naughty kids who went there. She gets into more fights than the Sasakis would like to admit to. Stuart is convinced Bear Club is run by lizards. Particularly geckos.



 

Suzi is ambling around on the cool tarmac, in a red puffer coat that looks much too big on her tiny body. Her parents are fairly generous, and she’s wearing an expensive-looking hat which doubles as a set of headphones. Stuart spots her almost immediately.

 

“Noodle!” He saunters over and crouches down at her side with a toothy grin. He has to crouch at least a bit, because Suzi is 3 and a half feet tall, and Stuart is already over 6 feet.

 

“Stuart,” The girl calls back, a beaming smile on her face, “I drew a thing for you!”

 

“What did you doodle, Noodle?” Stu decides to rhyme, which makes Noodle giggle. She digs around in her backpack and pulls out a crumpled up piece of paper, with a few scribbles that can only be described as the general shape of a plane. There’s also a splatter of red paint near the bottom of the paper.

 

“It’s a fighter jet!” She exclaims, as happy as ever. Stuart is mildly surprised at the content, but he decides to humour the child.

 

“A fighter jet? That’s wicked. Did you show your teacher?”

 

“Yes! She said I have a very… big imagine nation.” Noodle pauses. “Imagination.” For a young girl who was raised by Japanese-speaking parents, Stuart is pleasantly surprised by how much her English has improved since she’s been in school.

 

“You have fridge magnets at home, right? I’ll hang it up for you when we get there.” Stuart smiles, taking the girl’s hand. A few of the young children in the playground have spotted him, and are excited about his hair colour.

 

“They think you’re a mermaid.” Noodle mentions, noticing the kids. “Mermaids are girls.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m a zombie.” Stu jokes, pulling a faux-scary face at the children, who promptly run off. “Mermaids have red hair, anyway. My hair is blue.”

 

“Zombies are cooler.”

 

“They’re well cooler, yeah.”

 

Stuart leads the girl out of the school grounds and down the road. Her house isn’t too far away - about ten minutes at most. It’s quite useful, really, that the schools and houses in Crawley are so tight-knit. It gives Stu a bit of time to grab a snack from the Spar by St Wilfrid’s before he turns up at Noodle’s school. However, this means that on the way back to the Sasaki household, the two always inevitably pass by the group of Sixth Formers that Stuart associates himself with.

 

“Mate, you babysitting again?” One of them calls over, the cigarette in his chapped mouth nearly dropping to the floor.

 

“Yeah. Every week, blud. I can’t change it. I’m only free on Wednesdays.” Stuart reasons, keeping Noodle close at his side. He doesn’t want her to have to get involved with this rowdy lot. The consequences would be unfathomable.

 

“You’re such a killjoy sometimes, faceache, honestly. Why do that when you could be hanging out with us, eh? The cool kids?” Another boy calls with a smirk. This one has greasy hair, a worn-down blazer and pimples speckled over his tanned skin. He certainly stands out from the rest of the dull-looking eighteen year olds. “Didn’t you say we were going to be meeting that one mate of yours? You know, the new one? What’s his name?”

 

“God, leave it, Muds. He doesn’t have to turn up every day if he dun’ wanna.” Paula is there. Stuart must’ve glossed over her, being distracted by the prospect of protecting the six year old at his side.

 

“Murdoc is the one you keep talking about. The weird-looking one. Isn’t he?” Now it’s Noodle’s turn to speak. Everyone is talking and there’s a sense of immense panic rising in Stuart’s abdomen.

 

“Best be off.” He chokes out, moving swiftly down the pavement with Noodle’s hand still in his own. “She needs her tea.”

 

“Weird-looking one? Did you teach her to say that? Bloody hell, and I thought you had some charm.” Now Murdoc sounds offended. Definitely time to be moving swiftly onwards. Stuart says no more, practically dragging the girl along with him. He can hear Paula giggling, but he doesn’t hear the next thing she says, or what Murdoc decides to reply with.

 

For the sake of the audience, however, you have the privilege of hearing outside of Stuart’s distracted mind.

 

“He’s a funny one, isn’t he? Ain’t half sweet, though. He eyes me up in class but I don’t mind it, if I’m fair.”

 

“Dimwit. Total dimwit. But, if he’s your type…” If a roll of the eyes was audible, you’d hear that from the oily teenager as well.

 

* * *

 

Stuart’s heart rate is just a little bit faster for the rest of the walk back to Noodle’s house. He reaches under the doormat for the key, but he drops it on the floor by virtue of his shaking hands.

 

“Are you cold?” Noodle asks, picking the key up for him. “You’re all shivery.”

 

“Kind of. Murdoc intimidates a little, too, though, so I’m a bit scared.” Stu responds, taking the key and unlocking the door.

 

“He’s not scary! He’s just really, really ugly.”

 

Stuart lets out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. He's ugly, but he's... Pretty cool, as well. He's fun to hang around with. And he's really strong.”

 

As the two step inside the silent, tidy house, they are greeted by the thump of a small animal jumping off a table, followed by a quiet mew.

 

“Katsu!” Noodle immediately runs to pet the cat, who has trotted over to say hello to its giant underlings.

 

“Are you ready for me to order the pizza yet?” Stu questions, closing the door and striding over to the kitchen. He knows Noodle is going to say yes, so he picks up the phone before she’s even answered. After having called Mario’s Fish, Chips and Pizza place (since Domino’s is much too expensive for the Sasaki budget of ten quid), he goes to sit in the living room, where Noodle is now crouched on the floor, chasing Katsu with a laser.

 

“Can I have a go? Wait- no- you carry on.” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a melodica. It wasn’t like he carried this novelty instrument around with him every day, but he knows how it entertains Noodle. And today in particular, he has an extra instrument to go along with it.

 

“A tiny guitar!” Noodle exclaims, dropping the laser.

 

“Actually, it’s called a ukulele.” Stuart informs her, placing it in her tiny hands. Noodle pulls a face.

 

“It’s a tiny, small, little guitar.” She reasons.

 

“...I guess you’re kind of right.” Stuart shrugs. He holds the mouthpiece of his melodica to his thin lips and plays out a little tune. “Can you do that?”

 

“Um…” Noodle picks at the synthetic strings of the ukulele. It’s very disjointed, but the instrument itself is out of tune. Stuart Pot is an optimist, though, who still thinks this small child has at least the potential to play Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

 

“Try holding down some of the frets.” He guides her hands, showing her how to play a simple few chords. She still hasn’t totally gotten the hang of it, but it must be remembered that six year old children are the least likely demographic to instantly pick up a skill like this. Noodle decides to ignore Stuart’s advice after a minute or so, and instead shows off her prime ability: Aimless strumming. Good enough. At least she’s happy, which is what the Sasakis are paying Stuart an extra pound for at the end of the week.

 

Eventually, Noodle gets bored of their little musical session and puts down the ukulele.

 

“I wanna watch Spongebob,” She mumbles, climbing up onto the sofa, “Or Fairy God Parents.”

 

“Fairy God Parents?” Stuart raises an eyebrow, switching the television on and turning the channel to NickToons.

 

“Yeah.” Noodle nods. It takes Stuart a few moments to figure out what she’s talking about.

 

“Oh! Fairly Odd Parents. You’ve got the name wrong.” He laughs.

 

“But that doesn’t make sense.”

 

“It’s a pun.”

 

“...Like a joke?”

 

“Mmhm.”

 

“I think I get it. Doodle Noodle.” Noodle smiles.

 

"Did I say that?" Stuart responds. He doesn't have the best memory in the world.

 

"Yes! And you have to put my fighter jet doodle on the fridge." She shoves the crumpled piece of paper towards Stuart again.

 

"I'll do it when the pizza gets here."

 

The conversation continues like this for a small while, so much so that they’re not even paying attention to the cartoons on the TV any more. Well, Noodle is. And every so often, Noodle laughs at something she sees. Stuart instinctively laughs too, which only make Noodle giggle even more. This little cycle of discussion and laughter continues for a solid half an hour, and that’s when they’re interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. The pizza has arrived.

  
Stuart enjoys the nights where he gets to take care of Noodle. It’s barely ever stressful, and Suzi Sasaki has become somewhat of a little sister to the boy. In fact, the only days of the week where Stuart isn’t an anxious wreck are the days where he gets to play his melodica along with Noodle’s ukulele. For this reason, Wednesday is his least favourite day (And that's not counting the weekend, either, where he's given 48 hours of free time and a facebook full of messages.) Unfortunately for him, that’s tomorrow. Tomorrow, Stuart is going to take Russel to the Spar after school, and he's going to get to meet Murdoc Niccals and Paula Cracker for the first time. As much as he likes to go on about how ‘cool’ Murdoc is and how he thinks Paula might be interested, it’s a lot less fun than eating pizza and watching Fairly Odd Parents.


	3. Punk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russel finally gets to meet the great Murdoc Niccals, and he's not impressed.

It’s 6th period, which is the last lesson in Stuart’s abysmal school day. It’s art, which is at least a tiny bit entertaining; most people just get on with their own thing while listening to music through headphones. Stu appreciates that he can spend an hour painting on canvas while The Clash blasts into his ears, since it helps him to focus. While other people are listening to the likes of Nicki Minaj and Kendrick Lamar, he much prefers the classics - his mother raised him on all her favourite 70s and 80s hits, playing the CDs in the car when she picked him up from school as a child. Though, once a boy made an effort to unplug Stuart’s headphones from his phone, and the entire classroom was bombarded by ‘Don’t You Want Me’ by the Human League. To make it worse, Stuart hadn’t noticed the difference for a brief moment, and was caught dancing along. Stuart dances like a dad. The kind of dad who likes to make puns and thinks he’s down with the kids. He’s never been able to live it down. 

 

This particular lesson, Stuart only has one earphone in. He’s sharing the other one with Russel, who is working on his own project by his side. He and Russ have vastly different tastes - Stuart is more into retro pop, while Russ is a huge hip-hop fanatic. There’s a special kind of bond between people who can enjoy music with eachother despite having different tastes. That bond is amplified when they can understand why the other person likes it, when they can appreciate the music they wouldn’t normally go anywhere near. This is partially why the two boys enjoy their shared company. They’re without a doubt on the same wavelength.

  
  


“What’s he saying, though?” Russ mutters, bent down and focusing on a minute detail in his charcoal study.

 

“Where?” Stuart responds. He’s painting brushstrokes to the rhythm. It’s painfully obvious to Russ. He’s going to be such an embarrassing parent in the future. 

 

“In the chorus. I’ve heard this song before, but I… don’t get it.” 

 

“ _The shareef don’t like it, rock the casbah._ ” Stu faux-sings, with a little smirk. Russ rolls his eyes. “It’s about how western music got banned in Iran, shit like that.” 

 

“So it’s political? I like when musicians put politics in. It makes it more relevant. And- more interesting than, y’know, sex and drugs.” 

 

“Yeah. I get you.”

 

“I’ve been writing a few lyrics, recently. I mean, I can only do drums, so I don’t have a tune to put them to, but they’re about some of the shit going down in America.”

 

“Like what?” Stu looks away from his painting for a moment.

 

“Dude, what do you think they’d be about, really?” Russ furrows his eyebrows.

 

“...Wendy’s not freezing their burgers like McDonalds does?”

 

“Trump.”

 

“Oh.” 

 

“Wh- Why would you even think of that? Why would you even _suggest_ that?” Russ seems taken aback.

 

“Cuz it means their burgers are fresher. I think I like Wendy’s better than Mcdonald’s now. We should go there at some point.” Stu reasons, rather casually.

 

“We don’t have Wendy’s over here.”

 

“We don’t?”

 

“No.” 

 

Stuart frowns, and goes back to his painting silently. The two boys are silent for a short while longer, though now both of them are humming along to The Clash. Stu refrains himself from dancing like an embarrassing parent, which Russ is thankful for. Their enjoyable flow of music and artwork is interrupted by the bell ringing out over the PA system. Some people are out of the door as soon as they hear it ring, while others are staying behind to work on their projects for an extra hour. Stuart pulls the earphone from Russ’ ear and shoves it into his own, jiving along as he packs away his work. 

 

“We off to meet your sixth former pals, then?” Russel pipes up, slinging his bag over his broad shoulder.

 

Shit. Stuart had completely omitted that from his mind today. There was something rather sinister about his older friends, the way they’d acted yesterday. Something that desperately made him not want to see them again for a while. 

 

“Do we have to?” He asks, an exasperated crook in his eyebrow.

 

“You did kinda say we would, didn’t you? C’mon, Stu. Yesterday you were going on about how cool that Michael guy is.” Russ’ lips form a smug smirk. “Don’t you wanna see Paula? Your one true love?”

 

Stu coughs. “Murdoc. And, uh… Yeah. I do. She’s, well- She’s nice.”

 

“You wanna do her.” 

 

“Russ!” Stuart hisses, glancing off to the side. A couple of girls have overheard their conversation.

 

“Creeps.” One of the girls mutters. 

 

“I didn’t say yes, did I?” Stu scowls at her. The girl scoffs, rolls her eyes and goes back to her project. “Let’s just… Let’s go. Don’t… say stuff like that so bloody loud. S’not right.” 

 

“You look like one of them Andy Warhol paintings right now.” Russel gratuitously points out as the two leave the building, making their way towards the Spar down the road.

 

“How?”

 

“Your face is as red as your hair is blue.” 

 

“Your fault!” Stu exclaims. Now that they’re out of earshot from the eavesdropping girls, however, Stuart is laughing, and Russel is laughing with him. He playfully shoves Russ in the arm. Once the boys are out of the school gates, they loosen their ties and untuck their shirts. 

 

“Still not used to the whole uniform business.” Russ comments. Stu nods in reply. 

 

The Spar is a small newsagent, on the left of a terrace block. There’s a wall beside it which is almost always clustered by school kids after 3pm. The Spar doesn’t sell alcohol to any of them, as that is a rather irresponsible (and illegal) thing to do, so instead they all get themselves hyper on energy drinks and packets of crisps. Common practises of the after-school Spar dweller are as follows:

 

  * Yelling swear words at the unexpecting, innocent year 7s



 

  * Taking the utter piss out of passers by if they dare glance in their direction



 

  * Throwing used fags (sometimes, still burning) in the faces of those who make terrible puns



 

  * Daring eachother to do crude activities such as carve penises into the concrete



 

Today, one eighteen year old is presiding over all the others by standing directly atop the wall. He stands hunched over, like an omniscient gargoyle, and he looks very, very angry. Stuart is actually taller than most of the crowded sixth formers, so he walks directly up to the wall and peers up at their terrifying overlord.

 

“What happened?” He asks.

 

“A bloody castrophany’s happened, that’s what.” Murdoc Niccals responds, folding his arms. He looks like he’s about to fall off of the wall and onto the concrete, given the way he’s pacing across it. 

 

“But… what?” Stu questions once more, before a boy tugs his arm and directs his attention towards a spot of paint on the wall. 

 

“ _Murdoc is a twat._ ” Stu reads off.

 

“Read that aloud again and I’ll have your head.” Murdoc growls. Stuart snickers, and Russel - who’s lingering on the sidelines - joins in. “Shut up, the lot of you! Who’s this?” Murdoc belts, pointing to Russel.

 

“Castrophany ain’t a word.” Russ finally speaks. “I take it you’re Murdoc, huh?” He acts so cool and collected; he clearly doesn’t think much of the man parading around before him. 

 

“Bloody right, I’m Murdoc. Who are you?” The sixth former spits, climbing down from the wall. Embarrassingly, not only is he shorter than Stuart, but Russel manages to peak him as well. 

 

“A mate of mine,” Stuart begins, leaning against the wall and counting his change, “He wanted to meet you because he wants to hang out with me more, and… He thinks you’re cool.”

 

“I’m the only one of these sods worth hanging out with, mind you.” Murdoc mentions, combing his thick black hair out of his eyes with gnarly nails. He uses that hand to flick Stuart on the ear. Stuart flinches. “And this bugger, too.” 

 

“...What exactly do you do?” Russ seems unconvinced. Right now, he could be having a much better time with Stuart playing videogames over his house. Maybe with a few snacks, or some pizza.

 

“Ruddy Americans, eh? We do _cultured_ things, like get drunk and high and we read porn magazines.” Murdoc chortles, heading towards the door of the spar, “Come with me and pick something. We can head down to the park after.” 

 

Stuart, Russel and a couple of other boys follow Murdoc into the small shop. 

 

“Where’s Paula?” Stuart asks, gazing over the shelves packed with chocolate bars and Haribo gummies. 

 

“Who knows?” Murdoc shrugs, examining the energy drinks. “Who cares? Is this about your stupid, shitty little crush on her? Come off it, Stu. No chance.” 

 

“I was just wondering-”

 

“She’s ugly as shit, any road. Why go after her? Why not… Rachel, or whatever her name is? The one she’s always sitting with at lunch?”

 

“Rachel’s my mu-” Stuart realises here that he’s not in fact talking about Nurse Rachel Pot. “Rachel called me a creep today.” Stu dismisses. Russ notices how quiet he’s become since they met up with Murdoc, and steps in a little closer to the two.

 

“She’s not wrong.” Murdoc laughs.

 

“Actually, uh, that was- more aimed at me. I was dicking around and she overheard me, and… Yeah.” Russel defends Stuart, furrowing his eyebrows. 

 

“Oh, really? You have a mouth to you, Russ? I’d like to hear it.” Murdoc picks out a blue Monster can and turns to face him.

 

Russ clears his throat and refuses to make eye contact.

 

“He said I want to fuck Paula. Not true, though!” Stuart pouts.

 

“ _Very_ true. How long have you known Stu, then, Russ?” Murdoc asks.

 

“Uhh… since I joined the school, I guess. ‘Bout a month.” 

 

“How’s Crawley treating you? It’s shite here, innit? I come from Stoke-Upon-Trent, though. Not much nicer.”

 

“It’s okay. I don’t like wearing school uniform.”

 

“No-one does.” 

 

“Right.”

 

Murdoc pays for his drink, Stuart pays for his Mars bar and Russ grabs a packet of crisps. As they approach the park, Murdoc turns an alleyway.

 

“Shortcut. Come on.” By now, the other boys have abandoned the group - now it’s only Stu, Russ and Murdoc. Stuart follows close by Murdoc's side, whilst Russ lingers behind the two. Murdoc stops halfway down the alley and reaches into his bag.

 

“No, wait- what if someone sees?” Stu warns, but Murdoc seems unphased. In his hand is a spray can with a bright pink nozzle. He begins sketching out a tag on the wall. Russ decides to check his phone.

 

“Stuey, I thought you wanted to be the next Banksy?” Murdoc humours.

 

“Yeah, but not here. And you… like… have to do cool cryptic shit. Politics. Stuff like that. You have to be clever.”

 

“I am being clever.” 

 

“No, you’re not! You’re just… You’re just writing ‘Cameron shags pigs’ over and over again. That’s not even… a thing, any more. David Cameron isn’t even prime minister any more, is he? Cuz… Brexit, right?” Stuart tries to grab the can from Murdoc’s grip, but Murdoc’s reflexes are much too strong.

 

“God, you’ve gone all soft, haven’t you? I remember when you wanted to smoke pot with me and the boys, what happened to that?”

 

“My mum.”

 

“See what I mean?” Murdoc paints over his previous message, instead replacing it with a poorly scrawled, ‘Farage is a lizard’. 

 

“Can we just- go? I.. I don’t wanna get caught, alright?” Stuart panics.

 

“Shut up, you big idiot.” Murdoc snaps, and with one sharp move, he sprays a dash of magenta paint right into Stuart’s hair. Stuart goes quiet as he realises exactly what has happened, and his eyes widen. He appears to be in a great deal of shock.

 

“What the fuck did you do that for?” Russ shoves his phone back into his pocket, grabbing Murdoc by the tie. Stuart is as still as a corpse.

 

“Oh, Russ- come off it, now-” Murdoc goes sheepishly pale as he feels the boy’s hands near his neck. “S’all in good fun.”

 

“You put paint in his hair.” 

 

“Slip of the hand.”

 

“If someone sees _Farage is a fucking lizard_ on the wall and then sees some gawky-ass teenager with a splodge of pink paint on his head, people are gonna draw a comparison! Dude, he might get fired from looking after that kid.”

 

Murdoc goes quiet for a moment, and looks off to the side. Stuart is desperately patting the patch of hair that’s been gunked up with paint. His expression is that of discomfort - the paint fumes are getting to his head. He faintly reaches into his bag and pulls out a pill bottle. After swallowing two pills, he goes back into his state of shock and panic. A menacing grin stretches across Murdoc’s thin face. 

 

“You make a good point. You’re a very convincing man, Russ. Very mature.”

 

“And?”

 

“Let’s… Let’s take this moronic git back home to the pothouse, eh? Help him wash that paint out of his hair. Give him your hoodie, he can cover it up while we walk.”

 

Russel reluctantly lets go of Murdoc and takes off his hoodie. He slings it over Stuart’s shoulders, tugging the hood over his head. 

 

“Pothouse?” Russ questions as they begin to walk once more. Murdoc packs his spray can back into his bag.

 

“Stuart Pot’s house. Pothouse.” Murdoc reasons.

 

“You go there often?”

 

“You really think his parents would let me in their house? No, it’s just a funny name. Tusspot’s a worse name, though. Did you know his dad changed his name to Pot, thinking he’d be picked on less? The whole family’s a bunch of idiots, I swear.” 

 

Russ wonders why Stuart isn’t reacting like he had been before, and he goes to stand a bit closer to the boy. Stu is chewing his lip and fiddling with the zipper on Russ’ huge hoodie.

 

“You okay, man?” Russ mumbles, concern in his voice. 

 

“I dunno what the bloody hell he’s on about.” Stuart giggles. “Tusspot. Where’d he get that from? I’m not a tosspot. I swear, the shit he makes up about me…” 

 

“Don’t bother with him. He’s on medication, it fucks up his brain. Makes him sky-high.” Murdoc says passively.

 

“Meds?” Russ responds, still looking upon Stuart with worry. Stuart, however, is lagging behind to stare at the trees above them. Russ decides to let him be. 

 

“Chronic migraines. If you ever see him weeping in class, that’s probably why. He can’t take his meds in class or people will think he’s on actual, proper illegal drugs, so instead he has to push through the pain.” 

 

“Why’d they make him like that?” 

 

“Told you. The Pot family is full of complete nincompoops. His mum doesn’t have a clue about dosage, and she’s a nurse.”

 

“Is anything you’re telling me right now true?”

 

“Totally. Well, if you want to trust my word, that is. I am your elder, after all. And he’s not exactly arguing against my point, is he?”

  
Russel shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t know what to make of Murdoc, and he certainly doesn’t understand why Stuart would give him the time of day.


	4. Author's Note

So I've been telling a lot of you guys I'll be updating this fic by the end of summer. Please bear with me and read what I am about to say.  
I am 16, I have just finished my GCSEs. I have quite a difficult home life and I'm suffering quite severely with depression as a result. I am not saying I'm abandoning this fic, but please be patient with me. I would love to update this fic. I really would. If I build up the mental strength to write more, I will. I've already started writing the next chapter, but I have no idea when it will be finished. It could be next week or it could be in months to come. Again, I am not abandoning this fic, but I do not have an update schedule for it and I write more as a hobby than anything - I don't wanna disappoint any of you guys, and I really appreciate the feedback but I really have other things to prioritise such as my mental health and getting into college. I hope you all can understand where I'm coming from, and I'm really trying my best. Thank you for sticking with me and being patient.  
Liam. <3


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